Hostage Heart by Lindsay McKenna Page B

endlessly gossiped about because of his squaw wife and breed daughter, plus that menagerie of coloreds, greasers, and God knew what other half animals he had working for him at his ranch.
    Lark inclined her head. “I bring an Army voucher to place in our account, Mr. Cameron.” She stood and laid the voucher and book in front of him. Swallowing her pride, she admitted, “I’m not familiar with how to bank. If you will show me…”
    “Of course, Lark.” He studied the Army voucher, some of his smile slipping. That damned Frank Herter was giving her top dollar for the offspring of that red Kentucky Stud! The U.S. Army had commissioned Herter directly as supply officer in charge of buying horses for the forts in the northern Arizona Territory. Because of that, Colonel Morgan couldn’t control Herter’s dealings or what he paid for a particular ranch’s animals. Jud had wanted Herter to buy his own stock at top price, but Herter had claimed the Gallagher stallion sired better foals. Clearly, he needed that red stallion. Well, it was just a matter of time and he’d have him.
    Cameron fingered the thick, heavy paper with Herter’s signature on it. Herter was due to retire shortly. Soon they’d be rid of that bastard, who had stood like a wall between the Ring and Gallagher’s Ranch.
    “Before I can take this,” Cameron said, “you must sign it. Can you write your name?”
    Lark held his gaze. “Yes, I can. I also speak three languages fluently.” Lark couldn’t read or write well, but she relied on her memory, which had never failed her.
    Jud placed a pen and ink pot in front of her. “I’m impressed,” he complimented her smoothly. “After I heard you quit school, I lost track of your education.”
    She signed her full name across the back of the voucher. “My father became my teacher,” she explained tersely.
    Studying her neat penmanship, Jud smiled. “And quite a good one judging from the flourish of your handwriting.”
    Praise coming from a snake was still venom in disguise as far as Lark was concerned. She ignored his compliment. “I want six hundred dollars put in this,” she said, pointing to the green bankbook, “and I want four hundred dollars in cash.”
    “First you’ve got to pay up on this month’s mortgage, Lark,” he said, shaking his head.
    Lark’s mouth fell open. “What? My father paid this month’s mortgage already!”
    “Do you have any proof that he did? My teller always gives him a payment slip confirming that the mortgage was paid on time. Do you have it?”
    Her head swam in confusion. When Father Mulcahy had brought her father’s body back in the buckboard, all his money and his gold watch had been missing. There had been no payment slip in the bankbook she had retrieved from his shirt pocket. “But he was killed after leaving Prescott. That means he stopped here at your bank and paid the money we owed, then got supplies and had a drink over at the saloon before he left.”
    With a lift of his shoulders, Jud said, “I’m sorry, Lark, but there’s no evidence he paid the one hundred dollars he owes the bank this month.”
    She sat down, dazed. If only she understood math and banking! If only she wasn’t so poor at reading and numbers. Anguished, Lark knew her father had already paid this month’s mortgage. She looked up at Cameron’s smiling features and hated him even more, knowing she would have to pay two months’ mortgage. Education was power, she was discovering.
    Jud smiled paternally once the transactions were complete. “Are you going to be selling your ranch soon?”
    Lark stuffed the books in her pocket. “No.”
    With a light laugh, he stood. “Now, now, Lark. No woman can handle a ranch by herself. Surely you know that.”
    Her jaw tightened. “I’m half Apache, Mr. Cameron. Apaches know their women can do anything a warrior can do. I’ll run the ranch.”
    Jud scowled. Damn her, anyway! She had her father’s obstinacy. Trying to soothe her